


I Swear It Was Self-Defense (i didn't mean to kill him)

by KryOnBlock



Series: The Piglin Way [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: 3 lives system, Animalistic Behaviour, Blood God, Dave | Technoblade-centric, Description of Injuries, DreamSMP - Freeform, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Piglin Technoblade, Piglin worldbuilding, Sad Dave | Technoblade, Somewhat, character death becomes character undeath kekw, chat is the Blood God, furry behaviour more like, listen google docs is my only spell checking and he constantly fails me so, no beta read we die like Technoblade when the butcher army comes for him, technoblade is actually a child, this is so self indulgent, use of respawn, yeaaahhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:01:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28057293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KryOnBlock/pseuds/KryOnBlock
Summary: “It is decided, unanimously, by all New L’Manburg citizens, to hereby sentence Technoblade alias “The Blood God” by the murder and crimes he has comitted against our great nation. The accused will be executed, to pay for what he has done and how many lives he has taken, how he aided ex-president Wilbur Soot in the destruction of Manberg and the assasination attempt on George of the DreamSMP kingdom, charge which was added in name of our treaty with our neighbouring country. Signed, by current President Tubbo, and motion approved by all of his cabinet”The kid reads, almost indifferent, as Techno tenses more and more in the spot he is in. The teenager stores back the parchment and looks at him, serious and all business.“Will you come quietly, or shall we do this by force?”---------------------The butcher army finds Techno and executes him, the Blood God isn't quite ready to let his acolyte go. This has... consequences.
Relationships: Dave | Technoblade & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Dave | Technoblade & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Technoblade & Piglins
Series: The Piglin Way [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2137068
Comments: 109
Kudos: 929





	I Swear It Was Self-Defense (i didn't mean to kill him)

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, do not ask me why. I don't know, i watched the turtle stream, re-read one of my favs fics and ended up spending all the time since then to write about this. Im so sorry for the In June readers, i swear ill get around next chapter but this idea possesed me and i cant control the inspiration.
> 
> Big thanks to the lavender tea server who put up with me making like a million sprints and talking about my headcannons, without them this probs wouldn't have seen the light of the day <3
> 
> This one shot was incredibly inspired by:  
> ["you know where to find me"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27929308/chapters/68396473) by WeeGalaxy  
> And [Living_Fast](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Living_Fast/pseuds/Living_Fast) glorious fics, i love their techno content so much ;;  
> Title comes from Anarchy, a technoblade theme song by Cece Duarte. PLEASE GO LISTEN TO IT, its such a banger and it deserves more recognition.
> 
> anyways yeah, i hope you like the one-shot that consumated my whole life for like a week or two. Also i did not proof read this bc it consumated enough hours of my life, i'll probably edit this later tomorrow or idk, so yeah. Typos ahead.

Techno wakes up to the sound of knocking on the door, startling out of the chair he was dozing off in and almost falling to the floor.

He blinks, confused, as he stares at the white wall and tries to situate himself, the knocking ceasing for a few minutes before it starts again, causing snow to fall off the roof, which he watches fall bemused. Gently stretching, Techno outs the book that was falling off of his grasp in the nearby table, carefully bookmarking the page he was reading before standing up, taking off the red cloak he was using as a blanket off his legs.

He descends slowly down the ladder, hooves making a tiny clicking sound against the wood, as he passes by the fireplace and throws another log in. He stares at the main door, confused, since it hasn’t been even a day since Phil left after making the bee farm. Normally the blond only visits every three days, and the blonde adhered to that routine fiercely, so why was Phil earlier?

He scratches his head, various scenes where Phil had been chased out, injured, passing through his mind before shaking it, knowing the blonde probably decided to just visit early. He opens the door, a warm greeting and a reminder that he doesn’t need to knock, come on Phil, on his mouth, which dies the instant he looks who is in his door.

Tubbo stares back at him, the teenager looking over his nose at him, and Techno curses the fact that he normally doesn’t have his high boots on while in the house. If the kid is confused by how short he is, he doesn’t show it, the presidential suit standing brightly against the white snow of the background. Fundy is standing beside the president, the fox armed from head to toe in netherite armour, quackity same as him on the other side. Behind them, the piglin can see a few more guards, their weapons glinting with the shine of the arctic sun.

“Tubbo” He says, sneaking a look at his chest, which is at the other end of the room, which stores his netherite armour and weapons. 

“That’s President Tubbo for you” Someone growls in the mini crowd, and Techno sneers, relishing in how some flinch back at the sight of his sharp tusks.

“No president of mine” He looks back at the kid, eyes narrowing when he sees a familiar compass on his hands, something that shouldn’t even be possible “Now, I will give you five seconds to tell me what you did to Phil before you die”

“We did nothing to Phil” Tubbo states, ignoring the spluttering behind him “We are here on official New L’manburg business”

“Yeah sure, why do you have Phil’s compass Tubbo?”

“He gave it to us” 

Techno blinks confused, a pit opening on his stomach at the words but he continues on, refusing to even _think_ about it.

“Like I would believe that. What did you do to him?”

Tubbo scoffs.

“Nothing, as I said. We aren’t barbaric people, we would never hurt another human being”

“...That does not explain why you have the compass, he would never have given it to you” Technoblade ignores the whispers behind his ear, rising in volume with each second it passes. “Why are you here?”

At this, Tubbo stands straight and fishes a parchment out of his pocket, opening it with a quick flick of his wrist, the sound just making the anxiety boiling inside Techno grow and grow.

“It is decided, unanimously, by all New L’Manburg citizens, to hereby sentence Technoblade alias “The Blood God” by the murder and crimes he has comitted against our great nation. The accused will be executed, to pay for what he has done and how many lives he has taken, how he aided ex-president Wilbur Soot in the destruction of Manberg and the assasination attempt on George of the DreamSMP kingdom, charge which was added in name of our treaty with our neighbouring country. Signed, by current President Tubbo, and motion approved by all of his cabinet” The kid reads, almost indifferent, as Techno tenses more and more in the spot he is in. The teenager stores back the parchment and looks at him, serious and all business “Will you come quietly, or shall we do this by force?”

“....... Did Phil actually give you the compass?” Technoblade hates, _hates_ , how tiny his voice sounds but he perseveres, ignoring the dirty looks the others send him.

“Yes. Check the emerald on your necklace, Phil is safe and sound, back on New L’’manburg. He agreed to this sentence, he gave us the compass… He _agreed_ and gave us your location” Tubbo says, almost exasperated. Techno looks at the friendship emerald he carries on his neck, surprised at the fact that he knows that the emerald is linked to Phil’s code and safety. 

The gem glows brightly on his chest, denoting the safety of the person it is linked to. Certainty settles down on his chest, at the thought that Philza is safe, that nothing happened to him, ignoring the now screaming voices on his head, which yell of betrayal, of insecurity, of what ifs, what ifs.

And Techno is afraid, he is so so afraid but he trusts Phil more than anything in the world. And if he agreed? Then maybe, maybe he had a plan? Phil wouldn’t betray him, Phil would never betray him. ( _He ignores the voices asking, wouldn’t he? Wouldn’t he, acolyte?)._ He could try running away but… Techno is tired, he is so tired of all of this, of the paranoia, of the betrayal, of death that always hangs around him. He is tired, and a part of him fears of the retaliation his escape could bring on his dear ones, so he breathes deeply and nods, stepping out of the house and trying to feel as if he did not just sign over his existence.

Guards surround him, weapons sharp pointing at him, but he ignores them, hands in front of him and trying to not squirm at the feeling of snow on his feet. He is practically on his pajamas, soft shirt and baggy pants, a far cry of his usual get up, and valiantly doesn’t shiver in the arctic breeze.

Tubbo makes a wave and they bring him to besides his house, letting him stop momentarily to pet Carl as he passes by the stable, bringing him to the side of his cottage. He stands there, on the snow, as Fundy puts down a bed and makes him set his respawn point there. He stands next to the bed, hand hovering over the sheet as his communicator lits up and pings, a small “New Spawn Point Set” appearing on the screen. 

For a moment, Techno wishes the server wasn’t updated, that to set the new spawn point he would have to sleep in the bed, but then the thought of guards standing all around him while he sits on a bed all night is worse, so he shoves that desire away. He is ordered to take off all of his valuables, and he rolls his eyes, extending his arms as if to show “ _valuables?_ ” but when he sees the others don’t relent, he sighs and searches through his inventory.

His glasses are deposited on the bed, a few golden nuggets and cuffs following, a pencil he had on one of his pockets and the silver necklace that had the emerald. He shivers, and flicks an ear dismissively, trying to not show how naked he feels without the necklace around his neck.

“Any words?” Tubbo asks, not looking up from a book he was furiously scribbling in. 

“Just get on with it,” Techno says, standing with his back straight against the cold wall of his cottage.

The president nods, signaling Quackity to step up in front of him. The duck hybrid has a netherite sword in hand, the blade sharp and deadly. Techno breathes in and out slowly, trying to calm the nerves that fuel him inside. The duck hybrid stands there, admiring the blade on his hand, and the piglin has just a second to admire the hybrid for how much he has progressed in respect to the deep fear he has about him, before the sword is buried in one sharp movement on his stomach.

Techno flinches, ears tense against his skull, as he holds in the squeal of pain that tries to bubble up off him. His legs feel locked in place, as he closes his eyes and feels the blade inside of him move and dig upwards, the movement jagged and slow, as if to cause more pain. He feels the tickle of blood coming up his throat and maintains his mouth closed, unwilling to show any weakness, as he feels the weapon leave him.

He stays there, standing up, for one, two, three, four, five, six ticks before slumping backwards. He winces internally as he feels the coarse concrete dug into his open wound as he slides down the wall, but he maintains an impassive face, as the screaming on his head grows slowly lower and lower, until it flickers out. He blinks the spots of black on his vision, and stares up at Quackity, who just glares back, watching him bleed out on the cold snow.

He blinks again, and stumbles to the side of the bed, holding in the groan of pain as he clutches his midsection, eyes flicking up to the person who had murdered him, the duck barely glancing back before putting the netherite sword back in the sheath, standing once again besides the president. He thinks, for a glorious, glorious moment, that this is it, that he will now be left alone, before a pair of guards grab him roughly by his arms and drag him back to the wall, the red tainted blood squelching beneath him.

He kicks back, trying to get out of the grip, confused, as the voices of his god grow on his mind, screaming at him to get up, to fight, to make them _bleed_ for daring to lay a finger on him.

“Fundy, you’re next” Tubbo calls, without even looking back ( _why, why won’t he look? Is he such a coward as to refuse to see him bleed out? It hurts, it hurts more than he thought it would_ ) as the fox besides him nods and grabs the axe hanging from his belt and steps forwards.

Okay, they would take two lives, not one. Okay, okay, he thinks in semi-panic as he watches the fox get closer, the diamond axe held inexperienced on the furry paws, as if the player would be cutting down trees and not flesh and blood. His mind automatically thinks of trying to correct the guy before his conscience catches up and he frowns, not wanting to help someone who would be killing him but also knowing it would just hurt more if the fox were to attack him holding the axe like that.

Techno refuses to close his eyes, so he stares unblinking at the fox, as the axe swings and digs into his side. It hurts, it hurts like hell, but he refuses to cower, so he stares unflinching at Fundy, the other hesitating when seeing how he looked at him. After a few more swings, Technoblade dies, instantly respawning on the bed nearby, heaving an almost silent gasp as he tries to make his shaking limbs work.

The voices are non-stop yelling now, demanding retribution, demanding an explanation, something, anything at all, as he heaves silently and hopes his shaking stops. It makes a part of him furious, how they claim to be more “civilized” and then offer him these deaths, uncaring of the pain, of how it affects him. People may call him the Blood God, a murderer of the highest caliber, but at least he has the mercy of not torturing the people he attacks. A snap of the neck, a sword through the heart, an axe to the head, a shove off to the void; he makes sure nobody has to suffer more than the necessary, not wanting to make people deal with painful respawns more than the necessary.

He hears Tubbo dismiss the others, explaining that he will go with them a bit, and stays there, probably watching him as he slowly brings himself into a kneeling position just beside the bed, trying to blink past the dizzying pain clogging his system. The body may be healthy, but the pain stays on the mind for a long time after respawning, and dying so quickly after just reviving just makes it worse and worse.

But it’s fine, at least now he has paid the crimes and finally, finally, he will be left alone. 

_(Techno just wanted to be alone, is it that hard? Must he always be brought back to this, to the thrill of the battle, the blood of the enemy, the death hanging deep in the air? Why can’t he catch a break?)_

Footsteps go away, the snow crunching underneath, as he hears the people leave them alone, for now. He looks up, exhausted, staring at the kid who once was his brother’s best friend ( _who maybe once was his brother)_ and waits, because he doubts Tubbo stayed just to stare at him. 

Tubbo stays there, alternating in between looking at him and the book on his hands, a shaky “Enemies of New L’manburg” carved on the leather cover, the teenager almost looking unsure on how to act. The teen opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again and hesitates, looking so troubled, bags prominent underneath his eyes, for a second Techno regrets everything that has brought him to this.

“I, uh, well… Technoblade, you have paid for your crimes against New L’manburg, so officially the country has absolved you and you are free to go as you please, though you may not be a citizen of the country ever”

“...I’m sensing a but”

Tubbo hesitates, before steeling himself and standing straight, his horns cutting a sharp shape against the arctic sun.

“Non-officially, if you ever get close to my country I will have you killed on sight”

Technoblade laughs.

He laughs, harsh and long, ignoring how the other flinches at the sound, until he is practically breathless, one hand on the bed to stabilize him as he looks up to the almost shaking teenager with bared tusks.

“Oh, so now you show your horns, heh Tubster?” He croons, mocking and low, grinning as he watches the president take a step back “Where was this courage when the shapeshifter threatened your country, huh?”

“You don’t know wh-what you are talking about”

“Oh, I don’t?” Techno barks a laugh “So you prefer to target the retired anarchist than the guy who literally made you exile your best friend”

“Oh wait, he wasn’t in the end right?” And maybe he shouldn’t be provoking the kid so much, but he is angry, he is hurt and in pain, scared out of his mind and his shaking won’t stop, so he thinks he deserves this at least “You always said together until the end, but when push comes to shove you don’t actually care, do you?”

“....shut up”

“I won’t because I’m right. You didn’t care for him, you only held him close because he protected you from everything, but the second you have to protect him? Oh no, the moment, the one moment you had to back up your friend, your brother?” 

“Why do you care?! You never cared for Tommy nor me, you have no rights to talk about this!”

“Like you can either'' He scoffs, ignoring the burning pain on his midsection and shoulders with practiced ease “Have you ever gone to visit the kid? Have you ever spared a thought about how he is faring?”

“He… He would be fine! He understands it is for the sake of L’manburg that he was exiled, he will be fine there. He can take care of himself”

“You and I both know those are _lies_ , at least be honest with yourself”

“I’m not lying!”

And it makes Technoblade furious, how Tubbo keeps on denying the truth, how deluded he is with himself, because Tommy deserves better, Tommy deserves a friend, a brother that cares and maybe it was Techno’s fault in trusting Tubbo would be there as Tommy has been for him, but he refuses to let him keep lying.

“Look at yourself! Try looking me in the eyes and saying that you truthfully care for Tommy, despite discarding him and leaving him alone, far away from any person he ever loved. Try to tell me that you are a peaceful nation that cares for its citizens and would actually try to save them” He grins, a sharp and deadly thing in his face, at the silence “You can’t deny it. You probably exiled Tommy because you were _tired_ of him”

The crossbow hanging on the kid’s side snaps, the arrow of poison embedding itself deep into his side, the opposite part of where he was struck before. He relishes on the look of horror of the president, as he stares at the blood bubbling up from the wound, splattering into the wet crimson snow, another drop to stain what once was supposed to be his new start.

Tubbo stumbles, closer, as if to touch him and he snarls, snapping sharp teeth at the hand that dares to come closer.

“Go away, you have done enough President” He rasps, standing up on shaking legs “Go run to your country”

“I, I didn’t mean to, I- I need to help you, I-” The other stammers, the edges of his black suit splattered with his dark blood. “I- You are in your last life!”

“Go away” He growls, hooved hand pressing against his bleeding injury.

“B-But-”

“Absolute power corrupts absolutely” He croons low, ignoring the blood that is now surely staining his teeth, “Go away and let a monster in peace”

Tubbo just stares at him, for one, two, three ticks, horror painted in his face as he stares at the man he executed. The president trembles and turns away, running away and away and away, footsteps giving a wet sound beneath the stained snow under him, running away as he should have done so long ago.

The piglin sighs, and stumbles towards his door, ignoring how his sacrilegious blood stains the once clean wood planks, the cacophony of voices on his head a good distraction from the wet splats that fall against the floor. The voices scream and chant, scared in a way he hadn't thought it could be possible. His god is supposed to be uncaring, cold, distant but the voices filled with agony are such a distant cry from it, the difference makes him dizzy.

Or maybe is the poison, he muses, as he walks slowly to his chest and searches for any milk bucket, frowning at the lack of items to help him. There is nothing on the house, almost all of his potions are gone, and he scowls when he realizes that probably some of the people snuck in and stole all of his things while he was being executed.

He has a stash of enchanted golden apples on his ender chest, which is upstairs, and he stares at the ladder, thinking of the pros and cons.

He should probably go grab the apple, probably the only thing to save him right now. But Techno is tired, is tired from the voices, from the bloodlust, from losing everyone. What does he have, why should he try to survive when he lost everything important?

_He agreed and gave us your location_ , Tubbo’s voice resonates on his mind, the words on loop and in front despite the yelling that begs him to try and cure himself. _He gave us your location._

Phil…. No, Philza betrayed him.

He stares at his hands, stained and dirty, heavy with countless crimes, blinking dizzily as the room spins around him. Philza betrayed him. Philza gave them the compass, gave them directions, _and agreed_ on the execution.

_It is decided, unanimously, by all New L’Manburg citizens…_

Everyone voted on whether to kill him or not and Phil agreed to it. 

He swallows past the lump on his throat, stamping down on the whine that tries to bubble up his throat. It doesn’t matter, he must survive… or must he?

What would await him, if he were to survive? If he were to save himself?

More loneliness, finally abandoned? Go back to Hypixel, where he was raised, to empty floating islands, to a filled hub where only enemies await him, to go back to what was his life, to only killing and competing and not doing anything else?

_You have us_

_We won’t leave_

_DO SOMETHING_

_The gapples are close_

_Come on_

_We won’t leave_

_Cure yourself!_

_DO SOMETHING_

_PLEASE_

The voices plead and scream in his ears, the chants so distant from the usual he can’t help but give an half-heartedly smile at the worry.

Sure he had the voices but…

Techno just stumbles and blinks, now practically collapsed on the floor, his clothes absolutely stained by now, probably ruined, and he laughs at the absurdity of the thought that his clothes are now ruined, when he should worry about how he is rapidly losing blood. He is so, so tired and he lifts a heavy arm to scratch his face, hissing at the phantom pain that covers practically from his chest to just above his pelvis. He knows there is nothing there, besides the crossbow wound, but his mind is determined that he still has the injuries from before, brain still not adjusting to the respawn and the once-healthy body he now sports.

He thinks he should be afraid, the vague fact that he has barely lived through a fraction of what his supposed lifespan should be, be afraid of dying this young, alone and in pain in the middle of the arctic. But the piglin is tired, and he doesn’t think there is something worth continuing on for. 

The voices are distraught at his thoughts, and he shushes them gently, smiling when he sees them quiet down at the shushing. His god has been with him for so long, practically since joined the Hypixel competitions, barely seven and having only been living on the huge server for just three years. The voices have been through low and high with him, and although mocking most of the time, Techno isn’t sure how he would have fared without them. The blood god is a capricious thing, with a fickle attitude, practically a multitude inside his mind; but they have blessed him with so much, Techno can’t help but feel grateful for them.

He shivers, cold settling deep into his bones as the dizziness grows and grows; for once his thick and coarse fur not saving him from the coldness as it had before. He blinks, black and red spots dancing on his vision as he slowly slumps more and more in the floor, breath rattling in his chest as blood fills his mouth. Dying of blood loss sucks, he thinks distantly, letting the now fading chorus of the voices keep him company as he feels reality abandon him. It sucks that he is dying here, now, when he had prevailed so many times before. 

It’s the first time he has wasted his three lives on a server, and he toys with the idea of calling dream, of asking him to ban him, to take him out of this cursed world, to be taken to the Public Hub and be safe. 

He discards the idea as soon as it appears, knowing the green player would rather watch him die than help. They may be some kind of allies but he doubts Dream would actually help him, and he does not fancy being in debt with him.

It’s fine, he thinks, consciousness slipping from him like sand cupped on open hands. He closes his eyes and lets the blackness consume him, grateful at least that he will die asleep, not wanting to stay awake as he bleeds out to death.

Darkness emcompasses him, a thick and heavy blanket surrounding him, holding him as if he were a precious thing, warmth covering him. 

Half open eyes just blink, burrowing under the warmth, at this feeling of safety that he only once had. It reminds him of late nights with Phil, black wings around him as if protecting him from the world, soft hands petting his fur as he falls asleep with the scent of hot chocolate encompassing him.

He can feel something touching him, carefully cradling him, but he cannot see anything.

**“You did so well”** A voice says above him, resonating with the chorus of multiple ones, as what cradles him keeps him close, tucked to the heartbeat of the Universe **“Never had I such a good acolyte, you did so well”**

Techno whines, feeling more safe than he ever had, hands gripping at what holds him.

**“You did so well, despite how often you didn’t listen to us, we are so proud of you. Our champion, our acolyte, our beholder”**

He feels as if he is a piglet once again, babbling in what once was his true language, safe in the pack he was born, held closely to the chest of one of the adults as he is soothed from his nightmares. He has very vague imprints of his short time with his pack, soft shapes and a red overlay over everything, so distant memories that it feels more like dreams. He wants to stay here, safe and held close, with a care he rarely is handled with.

**“You cannot stay, at least, not now”** He scowls, hands gripping more harshly, ignoring the chorus of voices surrounding him **“You are too young still, you sacrificed so much for us, it is time to pay it back”**

The god shushes his protests, a hand (or what he thinks of a hand) petting softly between his ears, as he feels moved, cupped in soft soft hands.

**“We will await for you, always, but for now you must go back”** He whines, and pouts at the soft chuckle echoing around him **“We will watch over you, don’t worry”**

He is deposited slowly on something, and he shudders as something passes over him.

**“We shall see each other once again”**

* * *

Technoblade wakes up, alone for the first time ever and scared, in the middle of the snow.

The snow is almost blinding, white as far as the eye can tell, and the cold of it is shocking enough it startles him when he touches it. The ice melts quickly between his hands when he takes a handful, and he shivers at the coldness that seeps into him. It is also falling, the sky dark and covered in black clouds from where it snows down, the snowflakes melting against his skin and making him shiver.

He blinks, confused, and looks at where he is, this white ambient is a stark difference from the comfortable darkness he was in before, feeling as if disconnected from everything. Like if he was standing behind a thick glass, watching everything from there, his body barely felt like his own. He… He was dead, wasn’t he?

He looks at himself, touching in wonder the clothes covering him, his old usual get up, black pants and a white shirt, both stained with blood and torn open where weapons once dug into him. He wasn’t wearing this before, and he stares at them bemused, trying to understand what is happening. 

He died, he died three times and is now alive.

Techno stills, when he suddenly notices the silence surrounding him. It is unnatural, he thinks, and waits for a response almost automatically. He stops even breathing, waiting for some seconds to see if he’s imagining this, but the silence continues.

The voices aren’t here anymore.

Something cold grips his heart, and he calls hesitantly out, waiting for the familiar voices that never answer. Why aren’t the voices answering? A whimper escapes him, the sound resonating loud like a gunshot in the silent tundra, and he claps his hands over his snout, trying to cover the noises. He’s alone, once again, cold surrounding him and he’s not sure about what to do.

Dad, comes a thought out of nowhere, Dad would know what to do. He stands up, yelping at the cold ice that lodges inside his hooves, the white powder covering up to his knees. He ignores it, and starts to move before stopping, memories of what happened before coming back to mind.

No, he can’t go to Philza.

He gave his location to Tubbo, he had _agreed_ with the sentence, he thought he deserved to die. He tries to swallow past the heavy lump forming on his throat, he cannot run from this truth, not like he had done before with Wilbur. It feels worse, worse than anything he ever felt, the idea that Philza willingly gave up his safe location, that the blonde had agreed with the idea that Techno should _die_ to pay for what he had done.

A whine bubbles up his throat, and his ears go tense and flat against his head at the sound, both inconsolable and uncomfortable at the sound and the fact that one of his most trusted people decided to betray him. He knew, the blonde knew of his fears, told over long nights and hot chocolates, he had known about Techno’s fears and hadn’t cared. 

_Did he care, did he even listen to him?_ He thinks, heartbroken, as he sits down once again on the snow and hunches over, _Was it all for nothing? Did Philza care even once?_

The possibility kills him, stabs more deep into his chest that any sword had ever done, feeling as if there’s nails stuck deep, striking into his heart and piercing it like a pin cushion. He doesn’t have anyone left… He’s… Well, he’s alone.

He stares at his arms, muted surprise surging on his mind at the fact that his limbs are unscarred, as if he were a youngling once again. He traces his wrists and arms, seeing smooth skin and fur that once was filled with scars from previous fights. He shakes his head, breath stuttering, as he tries to concentrate on what to do. He should probably get up from the snow, because although he doesn’t feel cold as hard as the humans of the servers do, it still affects him if he spends too much time outside. He stands once again, knees trembling under his weight, and he looks around him, to try and ubicate himself.

He’s in the middle of a barren plain, filled with snow up to his knees, his cottage nowhere on sight. He cocks his head to the side at this, frown on his face, as he tries to think why he hadn’t respawned back on the bed. By all means he should be at the cottage, but he isn’t that hurt over not being there, not sure if he could stand to see the blood soaked snow that is now surely surrounding his house.

There is a light, far in the horizon, and he stumbles towards it, trudging through the hard snow and trying to not start shivering as he gets wet from it, leaving deep tracks behind him as he approaches the structure from a distance. 

It is a nether portal, more specific, _his_ nether portal; the obsidian frame standing tall against the background, the stone bricks slabs and stairs almost falling apart at its feet. He looks at it, almost in a daze, the swirling purple catching his attention, the purple particles of the portal almost touching him as it falls away. He stares, putting a hand against it and shuddering at the warmth that emits, so inviting.

He stares at the portal, in silence, trying to think of what to do. 

Should he go inside?

He hesitates, torn in between going inside to the warm Nether or making the trip back to his house. He thinks of what he hoped to call a home, the empty white walls, the wooden frames, the small attic where his bed is shoved, the indifferent fireplace. Why should he go back? 

He lived there because he thought nobody could find him there, but now New L’manburg knows where he lives; Philza betrayed him, so the empty room in the second floor would stay like that forever now, just collecting dust. He swallows, taking a hesitant step forward. He should leave his base, but what about all of his things? He frowns, hand just shy of reaching the portal, as he thinks of all the valuables he has there, on his chests and barrels, the beehives, of Carl and Percy, of Moon, Hurbert… 

But he also thinks of the memories those walls are fused with, of the now haunting soft laugh of a blond, the marshmallows stored in the cabinets fro when Philza visits so he can make hot chocolate, thinks of the honey farm the blonde built for him, of the blood that stained the whole side of the house. He thinks of it, and decides that he prefers to start from zero than to go back.

The Nether is a welcomed thing, the heavy air and almost suffocating warmth a balm to his weary soul, and he doesn’t reign in the excited kick of his hooves against the netherrack, as he stares at the huge lava oceans, the zombie piglins wandering about, the rocky paths that lead towards the portals that connect to the DreamSMP. 

It strangely feels like home.

* * *

  
  


Techno walks through the Nether almost in a daze.

He doesn’t stop, picks a direction far away from the portals and doesn't stop walking since then, hiding away from the Ghast that passes underneath his feet and the skeletons that rattle from the edge of the soul valleys. He doesn’t carry anything, not a weapon, a pickaxe, food; absolutely nothing, besides his bare hands, so he walks and walks, dodging everything and hiding in the crevices of the netherrack when the situation calls for it, thankful that his tiny frame still manages to fit in.

He doesn't know how long he spends here, hours soon losing its meaning when there is no blue sky above his head to tell the time with. He walks and walks, only stopping when he feels as if he cannot continue on. He mostly stops in the forests, climbing into the tall mushrooms and sleeping inside them, creating small little nests inside with the shroomlights and staying there until he feels good enough to continue on.

By the end of what he thinks it has been a week, his clothes are all torn up, singed from where he was almost too late to escape a magma cube, or with holes from where a hoglin catches the clothes. His feet feel awful, and he is pretty sure he is getting sick from eating only the raw pork chops the hoglins drop, and the random mushroom he finds on the floor. He is starting to take more and more breaks, dizzy and most of the time ending up throwing up, probably from eating a lot of the red mushrooms.

He left his communicator at the entrance of his portal, so he isn’t sure how far away he is from everything, but he thinks he must be far away, since he hadn’t found any signs of Player activity. He doesn’t even dare to break one of the huge fungus for wood, afraid that someone would notice the missing blocks and would manage to track him down.

He lost count of how many ghast had tried to burn him to a crisp, the mobs always hanging around when least wanted or expected. It had caused Techno to stop daring to traverse the lava oceans bridging, afraid of being shoved off the bridge by a damned fireball. He also tries to not stay too long in the crimson and warped forest, the first one because he really doesn’t want to get in a fight with some piglins and the second because the biome itself makes him uncomfortable, the place silent if not for the occasional woop from the endermans inhabiting it.

It feels almost sacrilegious, to be there, hidden between the deep blues that are so unnatural to the Nether, the most prevalent silence, it feels as if he wasn't supposed to be there. The enderman just makes it worse, the mob’s presence just further cementing the fact that this biome, this piece of land, does not belong here.

It is… Weird, to be once again on the Nether. Techno normally doesn’t spend much time here, preferring to stay on the Overworld, the buzzing of bees and the clouds above him lulling him to sleep, the hum of Life so prevalent he can hear it’s symphony whenever he starts falling asleep. The Nether is almost the opposite, the harsh cries of Ghast above, the popping of lava, the oinks of hoglins and the woops of endermen constantly keeping him on guard, scared for his own safety, yet at the same time relaxed, as if after all this time he’s back home. The dichotomy is so big, it just makes his head hurt from only thinking about it.

Although, he isn’t that weirded out about it, if he had to be honest. He was born in this hellish landscape, raised in the crimson forest probably, safe and sound in a pack of piglins. He knows the story, having it been recited back to him so many times by his once caretakers. If he closes his eyes and concentrates, he can almost feel back at Hypixel, the smooth voice of the caretaker who had volunteer to take him in telling about how some Admin’s had found a toddler alone in the Public Hub, the piglin barely out of his baby years, crying and squealing in terror at everything that passed by. About how he was taken into Hypixel to be raised with other Players who had suffered the same fate as him, of accidentally leaving their original Worlds before learning how to come back.

He stumbles when one of his feet get caught in a quartz ore, almost falling into the netherrack if not for how quickly he had gripped the wall and tried to stay up. If he fell, he knew he would probably end up there until he felt better, feeling so weak and dizzy it was sure he would pass out the moment he decided to take a break.

Techno’s stomach gurgles, a sick sound, as another wave of nausea fills him, acid burning his throat from how much he tries to keep everything inside. He still wants to walk a little more, feeling as if he hasn’t progressed enough for today, but his body violently protest at the thought of continuing to walk, so he practically stumbles a few steps more, finding a small crevice in the netherrack wall and crawling in the tiny space, curled up as he groans and closes his eyes, in pain.

The small space would feel claustrophobic for anybody else, but Techno feels safe in this spot, the security of walls encasing him and hiding him from anything outside soothing his frayed nerves. He fidgets a little, trying to find a comfortable position to lay down, ending up almost curled into a ball and leaning heavy against one of the walls, the netherrack heavenly cool against his forehead. He frowns a little at this, knowing it is a bad signal if the normally hot netherrack is cool against your skin. Does he have a fever? It would put a major setback on his plans but it wasn’t that surprising, considering how he has been feeling lately.

Being sick is awful, he thinks scowling, it sucks and it’s just awful all around.

He will probably spend it alone as always, his fate practically left up to chance, to see if his body would manage to recover before something attacked and killed him while weak. Tomorrow (or when he wakes up actually, since he has been measuring days when he wakes up after sleeping) he would have to spend even more time walking, since once he falls actually sick he would end up travelling less than half of what is supposed, if he even is strong enough to get up.

He throws an arm over his snout, trying to ignore the yearning that takes hold in his chest of something. What is it that he years for? He could not tell, just another stupid piglin instinct that ask of him what he doen’t know what to do. It… It is annoying, how often he has this yearning, this urges for something specific but no matter what he tries he cannot find out what he needs. It had made him miserable as a kid, spending most of the time crying inconsolable in the arms of his caretaker because he cannot find what he needs. 

It is a curse, being stuck in a body that asks things he does not know what they mean. It is, not humiliating, more like demoralizing, the fact that even after all these years he still does not his own wants. He looks at his hands, the black hooves he has for fingers, the coarse and now thin fur covering the pink skin, and wonders if anything would be different if he weren’t a mob Player. If he wasn’t trapped in this damned body, would anything change at all? If he didn’t have this snout, the hooves, the tail, would the urges persist or go away?

He buries the whine that he wants to let off and just tries to fall asleep, only managing to doze off and startling awake at the most minimal sound he hears outside of his little hiding spot.

After some hours he gives up on the idea of resting and crawls out of the crevice, ears tense and twitching to catch if anything is nearby before getting up, trying unsuccessfully to dust off the red debri now stuck to his haggard clothes. He entertains for a second taking a detour to see if he can find anything to eat, but the mere thought of food makes him nauseous, so he quickly scraps it and starts the walk.

It is easy to fall into a rhythm once he starts, as he walks close to the walls and forest, hidden from view if anyone were to try to look down. The piglin is almost in a daze, mind focused anywhere but the current place he is right now, trusting on his honed senses to warn him if danger is closeby. 

He spends most of the time like this, mind blank whenever it isn’t remembering the past, almost as if enjoying the pain he feels whenever he remembers the time he spent with Philza, with Tommy, with Tubbo. The only thing he carries from before are the silver necklace that hangs around his neck, a heavy and somewhat big emerald chained to it, glowing with the promise of safety from the person it is linked to. Maybe he shouldn’t be this focused on the safety of someone who betrayed him, but Techno is young and a fool, so he lets himself worry and hurt himself with this knowledge, a certainty on his mind that while he may care about the person this necklace is attached to, the other probably wouldn’t spare a thought for him. 

Techno stops, waiting as he hears a Ghast moving above him, so still as if he were frozen in time, until he hears the Ghast leaving and continuing the walk, letting the almost muted sounds of his hooves against the netherrack soothe him back into his daze. Maybe he should be more focused on where he is going, but his head hurts and if he tries to stay attached to reality too much his stomach rumbles and twists uncomfortably inside of him.

He thinks he may be a little dehydrated, pain spiking behind his eyes whenever he dares to look at anything that barely glows. His eyes sting from how close he is to the lava, the liquid so bright it only makes the forming headache worse and worse with each passing second. It feels as if what he sees are snapshots of a particularly bad movie, each time he blinks he finds himself in a completely different place, losing time more and more frequently as the headache and nausea grows within him. He is at the edge of a soul sand valley, blinks, and now is passing through a Warped Forest, endermen towering above him as if the mobs were some tall and lanky trees. Blinks, and now finds himself back at the nether wasteland, the only company in this damned place that of the zombified piglins who stumble from place to place all around him. 

He toys, for a second, with the idea of staying here until he feels better; of staying with the zombie piglins and following them around, as if he were little once again and stuck in Hypixel, getting over his fear in a desperate search of anything close to resemble home. But he soon discards the idea, knowing that staying with the zombies wouldn’t do any good, and while the ones in Hypixel were coded to follow players around, the ones here barely pay him attention, the rotting skin hanging from the reanimated corpses making something inside of him shudder in fear at the idea of even being close to them.

He walks and walks, lost inside his own mind practically, not wanting to take a break since he knows that the second he stops he will collapse and not get up until he feels marginally better. He instead reminisces about old competitions, of when his only worries were playing skyward and trying to win, when there wasn’t any betrayal, there wasn’t any concern about others beside the vague friends he had on the games. 

Deep in the past, he doesn’t notice how his senses get duller with each second, how he is basically walking in zig-zag from the nause he has, and how heavy and labored his breath is. He doesn’t notice until the last second, when out of nowhere (at least for him) something explodes behind him, sending him hard against the wall, leaving him breathless against the crimson nylium.

He scrambles back, hiding behind a tiny hill, almost hyperventilating as he hears the ghast hovering nearby, ready to shoot if it spots him. His entire back hurts, his nerves practically blinded by pain, and he doesn’t think why until he touches the wall with his back and lets out a shrill pained squeal, hands clamping down and stopping his mouth from emitting more noises and alerting the Ghast of where he is.

Hate and shame burns hot through his veins as he thinks of the embarrassing noise he let out, hands digging painfully into his snout to keep it shut, the eerie reminds of past jokes and mocks of him resonating in his mind. The Ghast leaves soon, and Techno practically collapses, at the verge of a panic attack, as pain overwhelms him.

Techno feels alone and as young as he supposedly is, his tiny frame shaking as he tries to not sob loudly in the now silent crimson Forest. In moments like this he misses the voices, misses the constant chattering in his mind that would cry for him and give him support. Ends, how much does he miss the voices. He feels so so alone, abandoned here in the middle of the fire, with burns covering his back, nausea filling him and an overpowering headache growing with each second it passes.

There are footsteps nearby, and he stumbles back blindly, ears taut and bared tusks as he watches a small pack of piglins appear from the fungus. The mobs stand towering above him, golden swords and crossbows ready to attack, and Techno shakes even more, cowering and hating how small he is compared to them. One of the piglins take a step forward, face covered in wicked scars and Techno can’t help himself as he squeal, scared and in pain, pressing himself back against the wall despite the pain it causes.

The piglin stops, and gives out a low grunt at the others, the only one carrying a crossbow giving a rough cough back before turning and going back, disappearing quickly between the huge red fungus that covers the whole place. Techno eyes the piglins that are left, one with a chipped golden sword on the left of the mob in front of him, and other at the right with a broken golden helmet.

The leader, the one with the face covered in scars, grunts at the other and they retreat a little behind. The leader tries taking a step forward but Techno growls, the sound scratchy from how sick he probably is, but at least it succeeds in making it stop its advance.

The leader says something, low grunts and coughs that mean nothing to him, because while he may have been born in a pack once upon a time, he left before he even knew how to talk. He eyes them, suspicious, ignoring his instincts telling him he is safe now, to relax, to let them close. The leader just keeps trying to apparently talk to him, low sounds that only cause him to bristle and growl to make it back off.

He wishes desperately he could be left alone, but he doesn’t have anything of gold on him, so no matter what he probably will not get out of this alive. For a second he mourns his golden crown that was probably left behind on the snow outside of his cottage alongside all of his jewelry, but he quickly lets it go. He has to concentrate on the present right now, to try and get alive out of this.

He ignores the leader, gaze looking as attently as he can at what surrounds him, trying to identify any possible escape routes, despite how dizzy and feverish he feels. After managing to see at least one, he gets up slowly, on trembling legs, practically hissing when one of the piglins tries to take a step forward, hands gripping desperately the netherrack wall behind him, trying to not pay attention at the hellish pain that fills him with each tiny movement he makes.

He takes a trembling step to the side, eyes fixated on the piglins, as he slowly moves along the wall. The leader is saying something, rough dialect easily falling off its tongue when something makes it fall quiet. All of the piglins turn to look back at the forest, and Techno uses the opportunity to sprint towards the small crevice between the huge fungus, ignoring the squealing behind him, using all the energy he has left to run as fast as he can, weaving between the fungus around him, trying desperately to loose his persecutors.

He can hear rapid footsteps behind him, and he tries to go faster, ignoring the growing headache and how his nausea starts growing more and more. Spotting a tree that is just right besides the wall, glowing red vines falling from the overhang, Techno takes the leap, climbing the fungus, scrambling to get on top as the sound of squeals and grunts grow behind him.

He pauses for a moment at the top, one hand on the vines, as he tries to regain his breath and closes his eyes, hoping the world will stop spinning when he opens them again. He gives himself just a few seconds to rest, before grabbing and starting to try to climb the vines. It is difficult, specifically when everything spins and he feels as if he can barely keep his eyes open, but he manages to climb a little before something grabs him by the scruff of the neck. 

Even though he tries to keep his grip on the vines, he is practically ripped away, a pained squeal escaping him as he is dangled from just under the collar of his torn shirt, groaning at how dizzy the movement made him. 

He blinks, wearily, and looks at what is holding him, black clothes practically covering his whole vision. He catches a glint of gold on the belt and whimpers, tail hanging limply and ears down as he looks at the Brute who is holding him and is talking to the piglins that are waiting in the ground.

Maybe he should trash, try to break free and escape, but he feels so so _tired._ He practically gives up, letting the Brute take him to the ground, where the rest of the piglins talk in worried grunts between them, his small form practically dangling before he feels how someone carefully holds him in their arms, and he burrows into it, dizzy, tired and pathetic all around, the figure holding him starting to walk, the rhythm soothing him into relaxing.

The last he sees before falling unconscious is the Brute and the leader of the piglin pack looking at him (in worry? Anger? He cannot process what emotion the mobs could be feeling, as weak and sick as he is now), the blurry shape of a bastion rising on the horizon before blackness overtakes his vision and he passes out.

* * *

  
  
  


He wakes up slowly, groaning, feeling as if he was trampled by millions of ravagers. 

He blinks, and barely manages to react before someone guides him to the side and he doubles over vomiting on a crude bowl that is put under him. He whimpers, rough hands carefully holding him as he empties his stomach and groans, slowly moved back to where he was sleeping.

A wet something nudges his shoulder and he whines, pushed carefully down as distant grunts are heard over him, footsteps clicking on the blackstone floor. He spends a few minutes laying there, weak and in pain, as someone carefully puts just under his nostrils a wet piece of something, an acidic and acrid smell overwhelming him and, curiously, helping settle his troubled stomach. His vision is all fuzzy and blurry, so he closes his eyes and clings to the warm weight besides him, dozing to sleep as someone carefully pets his head.

He is woken up later, a hand carefully guiding him up and holding him there, a warm presence behind him as a bowl is slowly guided to his mouth. He drinks slowly, eyes closed and still dizzy, until he whines and shies away from the bowl, feeling already too full despite the fact that he probably didn’t eat more than a spoonful.

He is guided down, someone tugs at what is covering his arms and slowly takes it out, hissing as he feels the burns on his arm prickle in pain. Something cold and wet is pressed against the burns and he startles, flinching away from the touch before someone grunts softly at him as, he guesses is a salve, is spread over his injuries. He relaxes minutely, letting the other carefully wrap his injuries before slowly settling down his limbs, letting sleep overtake him.

This is repeated various times, Techno waking up from a fitful and feverish sleep for someone to feed him and rewrap his injuries before falling asleep once again. He feels as if he is a toddler again, sick and vulnerable, at the care of anyone, actually, it reminds him so much of memories of him as a child, he is surprised when he wakes up and opens his eyes to not find the sterile and lifeless walls of the Hypixel guardery meeting him. Of course, there are startling differences; the acrid plant someone constantly puts under his nose, the thick and almost spicy soup, the constant presence of someone besides him.

This is not to say that Hypixel was lacking when in charge of him, no, he owes Hypixel and its Admins too much to ever say something bad about them but… But in Hypixel he was just one Player in hundreds, just another one, his caretaker took well care of him, of course, but the man was also in charge of a lot of other Players, so he normally didn’t spend time with him, giving him toys and medicine before quickly leaving to take care of other kids. Techno doesn’t resent it, having understood from a young age that the poor man was probably swamped by work and him being there probably didn’t help. 

Plus, while his childhood was lonely, he had the voices with him, constantly keeping him company once he started participating in the mini-games and competitions of the Server, his god almost instantly picking him and blessing him. Techno misses the voices, he misses them a lot actually, feeling so lonely without the constant chatter in his ear, offering advice, jokes and generally making him company all the time. Sure, the voices sometimes were grating and loved lying to him (He will never trust someone who says he left diamonds behind, by now it's an ingrained response) but they were for a long time the only thing that Techno had.

Whenever he wakes up, it is to the distant and soft chatter in the background of where he is staying, grunts, squeals and rough coughs outside of his room (or where he is staying) keeping him company in the few moments he is awake and conscious, not feeling too much like crap and when he manages to keep the food inside of himself. He sleeps and wakes to the sounds, something that was always coiled inside of him relaxing for the first time in his life, letting him feel at ease and calm.

Finally, after Aether knows how long, Technoblade wakes up and feels as if he is a Player once again.

He opens his eyes and blinks tiredly, headache finally gone, and slowly sits up from where he is laying on his stomach, arms trembling as he slowly rises up. He frowns a little, and picks off the crimson roots that are resting just underneath his nose. The roots are damp and twisted, probably someone twisted them to try and get the juice inside of the plant to come to the surface. The smell is more soft now, the leaves are almost brittle from how old it is, and Techno thinks this must be what the people taking care of him used to try and settle his stomach.

He looks around him, taking in the room where he has been staying while he was sick. The walls and floor are made of blackstone bricks, some parts almost crumbling away, cracked bricks barely supporting the infrastructure. He is on top of a bunch of leather, soft fur almost scraped away from the hoglin’s hides, all of it arranged in a semi-circular shape, multiple layers with string tying them together. 

There is a small lantern to the side, bathing the whole room in soft yellow, a light not too strong which he internally is grateful for. There is a doorway, currently empty, from where he can see a little bit more of blackstone bricks and stairs. Besides the nest he is in, there are some empty bowls, filled with more crimson roots, weeping vines, and strings with leather (probably what someone has been using to bandage his injuries), and one has a bunch of red and brown mushrooms in, clear materials for soup.

He is in a bastion, the blackstone bricks all but confirm it, the question remaining is _Why?_

Piglins normally attack any Players they see, and he is clearly not wearing any gold. So why is he inside of a bastion, being seemingly taken care of?

Piglins have never shied away from attacking him before, golden and glinting swords swinging wildly against his netherite armor with almost enough force to bruise; so why is he here? It is so confusing, Techno can barely comprehend oit. What changed, to make them take him in? He wasn’t wearing gold, he was injured (and normally this made them attack with even more fervor)... The only thing different is that he is no longer wearing his armour, but how can this affect how the piglins view him? 

The sound of hooves clicking against the floor distracts him from his musings, and he looks at the entrance instantly, torn between fear and curiosity. Should he try to run away? Should he stay quiet? Pretend to be asleep?

Before he can decide, a figure enters the room and Techno tenses at the sight of a piglin Brute entering the room, the mob stopping for a brief moment when seeing he is awake before snorting and continuing on, sitting down beside him and grabbing some empty bowls.

The Brute unclips a small bag out of his belt, pouring magma cream and blaze powder into a bowl, adding a fire resistance potion into the mix, stirring it gently and getting a somewhat liquid salve. The Brute grunts at him, almost 2 heads tallen even when sitting down, and when Techno doesn’t react, carefully takes his hand and extends the arm.

Slowly untying the crude bandages, the Brute pours a little of the salve into Techno’s burns, spreading it and making sure to cover all of it before taking some leather and string, the hide carefully clean and scrapped from any fur, puting it over the salve and tying it together, grunting satisfied at it. The mob carefully repeated the same on the other arm, one hand carefully guiding the frozen Techno to lay on his stomach as it rewrapped and spread the salve on the injuries of his back. He is grateful he cannot feel the pain as the medicine is spread, back almost numb if not for the uncomfortable tugging from what he guesses are the scabs of the wounds.

If the Brute notices how Techno is practically frozen, it does not say anything nor does it look at him in any aggressive way, continuing to treat his injuries before helping him sit up and offering him a bowl of soup. The scent of food is mouthwatering, and he practically devours the whole bowl, not having noticed how hungry he was before. The Brute does nothing, letting him eat in peace before nudging him with its snout at his shoulder, taking gently the bowl from his hands and waiting, as if he had talked in English or something.

Techno stares, in confusion and a little bit of fear, eyeing the menacing tusks the Brute carries, unsure as to what the other is asking of him. They both stare at each other, the almost white eyes of the mob fixated on him, causing the smaller piglin to frown and just stare at one of the giant tusks, uncomfortable and not knowing what to do. The Brute huffs, an amused yet gentle sound, and nudges once again Techno on the shoulder, the other just tilting his head.

Not for the first time Technoblade wishes he knew Piglin dialect, because despite the fact he is a piglin he has literally no idea what the other is trying to convey. He fidgets a little, very light blue eyes falling into his lap unsure of what to do. As if noticing the other has no idea what it's trying to say, the Brute coughs and, carefully, pushes the smaller to the ground, signaling at the nest.

Bemused, Techno lays down, watching the Brute nod satisfied, the other’s tail swaying gently, as it stands up and leaves the room, taking with it the empty bowls. He almost thinks he is going to be left alone, when the Brute comes back, now empty handed, and sits right beside Techno, almost dwarfing him. 

The Player scrambles back, both afraid and even more confused, not knowing why the normally hostile mob is now just… sitting besides him, looking almost in betrayal at his retreating form. The Brute just huffs, settling down just besides the small nest of leathers, the giant just staring peacefully at him.

“Why…” Techno pauses, throat almost burning at the words, swallowing hard before continuing on, voice raspy from disuse “Why are you here?”

The piglin does nothing, simply staring, absolutely not understanding a single word he’s speaking to him.

“I… um, aren’t you supposed to attack me right now?” The piglin does nothing, white eyes just flicking between him and the now empty spot. “Wh-What is happening? Why did you care for my burns??”

The mob doesn’t answer.

Techno groans, hands digging into his face, still feeling weak from being sick yet only confused. “What the hell is happening?” he wonders to himself.

He looks once again at the room, glancing briefly at the other piglin before shuffling to the very edge of the nest, sitting up and swinging his legs outside, wondering if he can manage to stand up, when a growl is heard across the room. He freezes, tail instantly standing up, as he looks back at the Brute, who is now very much clearly frowning at him.

He stands still, not daring to move, the Brute not saying anything else. Hesitatingly, he puts both of his hands on the floor, ready to try and push himself up when the growl is heard once again. He can’t help himself as he flinches, the Brute still frowning clearly at him, its golden bracers glinting in the low light of the lantern.

“I… uh” He hesitates, deciding to prove his theory by lifting his arms and putting them inside of the nest, watching the Brute carefully, the mob grunting softly, almost as if beckoning him to continue. He whispers softly “What the hell?”.

The mob, seemingly tired of his hesitation, just stretches out and grabs him by his wrist, tugging him into the nest. Techno falls easily in, a small squeak escaping him as the mob practically manhandles him into the center of the nest, moving the leather around and sitting beside him, its presence a very warm and grounding weight besides him. 

He stays still, almost frozen, waiting to see if anything else happens, but the Brute just grunts very very softly, the sound strangely comforting, and nudges him carefully on the shoulder once again, just curling around him but not doing anything else. Techno has been very confused since he has woken up, but he thinks this may yet take the winning spot so far, a constant chant of “what the hell?!” present on his mind as he stays there.

The Brute, fortunately, doesn’t say or do anything else, almost content to just stay there curling around him. And maybe Techno just woke up, but he feels already tired, the presence besides him soothing something inside him, relaxing him against his best wishes, and he slowly falls back asleep, the distant squeals and grunts outside of the room lulling him into unconsciousness.

If he wakes up practically pressed against the Brute, the mob carefully holding him, and ends up startling out of the nest with an embarrassing squeal, well… That’s for nobody to know.

* * *

  
  
  


Strangely, or maybe not considering what has been happening so far, the Brute doesn’t leave him alone. 

Whenever Techno wakes up, the mob is there, holding him, sitting besides him or just generally being in the room. More than once he wonders if the piglin doesn’t have anything else to do than stay in this small room with the hurt Player, but no matter how he tries he can’t manage to get an answer out of the Brute he can understand.

Slowly, he gets accustomed to this weird new normal, waking up whenever he’s hungry, eating gratefully the mushroom soup and letting the Brute take care of his burns. He ends up learning the meaning of some sounds the piglin makes at him, vaguely knowing what they mean. The first time he dares to imitate the sounds back to the Brute, the piglin just stands a little straighter and nudges him affectionately on the head, huffing and grunting in what he now can recognize is happiness he guesses.

It feels weird, to be taken care of so much by this mob that would on any other circumstances gut him on the spot. He isn’t used to this, being honest, the carefulness around him, how gently it cares for his burns or how it always stays right besides him. That is not to say that before all of this he wasn’t taking care of, no. 

But… Before it was different.

His caretaker cared for him, but almost in a business way, making clear he was only doing it since it was his duty. 

Phil cared for him, of course, but he had met him way way later, when he already had a reputation as a famous warrior, the rising acolyte of the Blood God. Sure, the blonde cared for him, but it was in a different way; Phil clearly thought of him as capable of taking care of himself, and let him be most of the time, almost all of their time together was spent chatting about something or taking care of some business or adventure together.

The winged man usually was worried with Wilbur and Tommy, the humans constantly needing attention and help. And don’t get him wrong, he wasn’t jealous or anything, he understood the others had different needs and he was all grown up and the older of the trio Phil had taken under his wings, so it was natural Phil would just let him be, checking in from time to time.

But this? This was so different, it gave him a whiplash from just thinking about it.

The Brute would care for him, attentive to his every need, always staying around and just generally being so different from what he was used to, he couldn’t help but lean into it. Soon, he started to relax when being in the presence of the mob, no longer tensing whenever the Brute did something, or helped him move or anything.

Soon, his burns are all better, the crude bandages coming off finally, with no more salve to be applied. The burns scar a little, a weird mismatch of shapes covering a good part of his arms and back, fur a little more thinner than normal in those spots.

He should be happy, rejoining that he no longer hurts, but he is more scared than anything if being honest. He is cured, and now rest the question of what is going to happen to him. Will they throw him out? Techno originally would have been overjoyed to be left alone, but now, having grown used to the company of the Brute and the constant background noise of the bastion? He’s not sure he would leave if given the opportunity.

The Brute is now in the room, carefully stacking the empty bowls and leaving them in a corner, before turning to look back at him and grunting softly, signaling where it's standing.

These past days they have managed to have established a small… form of communication, which mostly consisted of some meaningless noise and a bit of pointing and signaling from the Brute. Techno frowns where he is sitting, standing up slowly and almost stumbling to the ground when he manages to stand up, legs weak from how much time he has spent lying down. The Brute is in an instant beside him, warm hands carefully holding him from the elbow and helping him stay upright, nudging carefully his head, the soft scent of fire and melted gold enveloping him as the mob stands close to him.

He is taken outside of the room, the Brute mindful of his trembling legs, as it guides him through the semi-crumbling floor, Techno blinking harshly against the new lights enveloping him as he stares in semi-awe at the sprawling bastion in front of his eyes. There are a lot of piglins milling around, baby piglins running around the corridors and squealing excitedly, chasing each other in some game not too dissimilar to tag.

Techno whines unconsciously, standing closer to the Brute, hoping the huge mob will hide him from sight when the closest piglins turn around to look at them when they emerge. He sees a piglin getting closer, and recognizes him as the leader of the pack that had found him while sick, the monster stopping very short of him. He bares his tusks, because while he may feel safe with the Brute he is not too sure how he feels with the other mobs.

The leader scoffs, sounding somewhat amused before giving a rough cough at the Brute, who grunts back, the two “talking” as he peers from behind the huge Brute and stares at the piglin covered in scars.

He slowly relaxes as he sees the leader not very interested in him, more worried in talking with the Brute, and he uses the time to look closely at the bastion, watching in amazement the huge structure. It was bustling with activity, and Techno watched curiously the piglins walking around, arms full of materials they carried inside, a few taking what appeared to be golden bars into the treasure room where he could see a somewhat small pile of gold.

A tug on his tail startled him, and he jumped back, swirling around and pressing himself against the Brute, bristling as he watched the baby piglins who were now standing in front of him, one of them with the hand still extended, probably the one who tugged his tail. He could hear the Brute turning around and huffing, but he paid it no mind as he stared at the babies silently, torn between snarling or just retreating. 

The child who tugged his tail stepped forward, a small and chipped golden sword on its hand as it waved at him and squealed, the tone inviting. Techno tilted his head, trying to decipher what the kid could be trying to say, preferring to just shake his head. Seemingly taking offence at that, the child squealed once again, almost angry, and stepped forward, hand extended to grip his tail.

He stumbled back, baring his tusk and holding his tail, not trusting one bit the kid to leave him alone. The child paused, almost as confused as Techno was, and stepped back, snorting contemptuously before calling its companions and running off. Techno sighed, happy he was left alone again, and turned to see the Brute just staring at him, the leader with whom it was previously talking, also looking at him from the side.

He frowned, and just turned his head, deciding to call quits and went back into the room, ignoring the amused grunts behind him.

Relaxing once inside the room, Techno pouted, wishing desperately for his boots once again, knowing he probably wouldn’t feel as intimidated if he were wearing the armour. The boots always made him look way more taller, and this was not to say he was intimidated, Technoblade doesn’t get intimidated alright? 

Only, it was a little discouraging that the baby piglins stood almost up to his chest. He was fine with the Brute being taller than him by a lot, and somewhat with the adult piglins… but the babies?! Now that was just too much!

Grumbling to himself, Techno went towards the small window one of the walls had, having made it accidentally by leaning into it and not noticing the ruined bricks. He peers outside, the whole place covered in huge crimson fungus and netherrack walls covering the horizon. There were a few lava ponds down in the forest, a tiny pack of striders lounging on the wam liquid, while a hunt sounder was coming back to the bastion, weaving expertaly in between the fungus, hands full of the corpse of one hoglin they must have managed to catch.

He stays there, watching outside of the crude window, taking in the wilderness of the uninhabited Nether, breathing in the acrid smell of the crimson forest, the distant chatter of piglin packs and striders chirps relaxing him. Staying here, he can almost remember something similar, very vague shapes carrying him around, while the fungus towered over him. He isn’t sure if they are actually memories or just dreams of what he thought life must have been for him as a baby, but nonetheless he welcomes them, bathing in the nostalgia they bring.

He hears the Brute enter the room, but he continues watching out of the window, a flick of his tail the only acknowledgement of the other’s presence. He decides to close his eyes and enjoy the peace, but the heavy hand of the Brute falling on his face interrupts him midway, and he stares up at the Brute, in anger? In confusement? Who knows, who only grunts and nudges him towards the door once again. 

“I’m not going back there” Techno says, firmly, not caring about the fact the Brute is probably not understanding anything “You can’t make me”

The Brute just stares in silence, and Techno fidgets.

“You can’t make me. I will stay here” A grunt “No! I don’t care! There are so many mobs out there, what if someone suddenly decides I’m stab-able?”

Silence.

“Yeah, I know you probably wouldn’t let anyone stab me but what if?” Another nudge against his shoulder “What about the babies?! I don’t want anyone tugging on my tail!”

Seemingly tired of the endless chattering, the Brute just snorts and in a swift movement, takes Techno into its arms, the smaller piglin squeaking in surprise and grabbing at the dark shirt of the mob, glaring at it who only coughs and turns around, uncaring about the now embarrassed and pissed off Techno on his arms.

He tries getting down, but the grip of the Brute is relentless, so he quickly gives up and lets it take him wherever it needs to go, semi curled in the embrace and a little angry about the fact that he is so tiny the Brute only needs one hand to carry him. It is super insulting, but resistance is futile, so Techno just huffs and rests his chin on the Brute shoulder, staring at the bastion indifferently as the mob moves through it and talks to other piglins.

Fortunately, besides staring a little, the majority of the piglins just ignored him, a few just snorting amused at his hunched figure before continuing to talk with the Brute. It is clear the mob is seemingly catching up or making rounds, and Techno remembers belatedly that brutes are supposed to guard the bastions and the inhabitants fiercely, and wonders why the Brute stayed with him for so long.

After some time, they end up outside of the bastion, at the bridge that connects it to the huge crimson forest outside, the Brute talking to another one who just snorted before going inside. The Brute stands there, Techno carries on one of its arms, as it guards the entrance, nodding or making a very grave oink at the piglins that pass by.

Bored, Techno looks around, eyes zeroing on a small lava pond that leads to the lava ocean, a group of striders resting on the liquid almost dozing off. The striders look super cute, a baby one piled on top of what he assumes is its mother, chirruping as it sleeps. He grabs one of his tusks, tugging softly at the canine, as he thinks. 

Before he can overthink it, he tugs at the Brute shirt, the mob just glancing at him before snorting and looking back at the path it guards. Now frowning, he tugs harder, not letting up until, seemingly giving up, the Brute carefully lets him down, snorting before letting him go.

He stares up at it, the Brute just nodding before returning to its position, and now free to walk, Techno looks around, and starts exploring, deciding it couldn’t hurt to know the place if he decided to leave one day. 

The forest is huge, the fungus spread all over the floor, the nylium underneath his hooves soft, the whole place alive with the chirrup of striders, the sounds of hoglins and a few piglins running around. He climbs one of the trees, the bark filled with crevices and grooves he can find purchase and climb; the nether wart blocks are spongy underneath his hands, and he suppresses a laugh at it, throwing himself across the blocks and relaxing as he practically sinks into it. He makes a note to possibly steal some blocks to carry back to the nest and leaps down to the floor, successfully landing on his feet.

He walks around, pausing to pet some striders lounging at the edge of a pond, before continuing, determined to know the whole place, a welcomed distraction from everything that has been filling his mind these past days.

So distracted he is, looking around, he forgets to be careful and ends up staring face to face with a pack of wild hoglins. He freezes as the huge animal finally notices him and snorts, its tail flicking rapidly from side to side, as if torn in between ignoring him or charging.

Techno stays still, praying to the Blood God that the hoglins will leave, when one of the baby hoglins sneak and touches him, the wet snout startling him so much he falls into the floor. The matriarch of the hoglins squeal angrily, hooves kicking at the floor, and without waiting to even see if the mob will stop, Techno scrambles to stand up and starts running away, desperate to get back to the bastion.

He feels more than hears the hoglins running after him, the massive mob’s hooves making the floor practically vibrate under its weight. Techno ducks under one of the fungus, spotting the bastion and letting a small sigh of relief, picking speed to try to cross the small line of warped fungus that make a small barrier around the structure.

Once he crosses it, he turns and laughs, relieved and mocking at the squealing hogs that stamp around the barrier, as if searching for some kind of breach to continue on. He dust himself off, grinning at the frustrated mobs, before turning around.

Enough adrenaline for today, he thinks to himself, seeing the Brute still standing guard at the entrance. Bored, he makes a beeline to the closest lava pond that connects to the ocean, sprawling at the edge and sighing at the warmth it emites. He hears more than sees a strider get closer, toddling through the lava, and leaning on one of his hands, he grins and tries to beckon closer the baby strider, the mob chirruping confused before getting close enough to the edge he can pet it, smiling at the soft feather-like fur covering the head of the strider. 

Soon the baby strider will grow up and shed all of its fur, ending up with the same scales as the adults, but for now Techno enjoys the semi-fluffy baby in the pond, scratching it gently under its chin and smiling at the soft happy purrs the strider lets out.

Techno doesn’t know how long he stays like this, petting the striders that get closer as he is sprawled at the edge of the lava pond, but soon the Brute appears, snorting and carefully grabbing him from below the scruff of his shirt, dangling him up in the air as it stares at him apparently amused.

He forgets to glare, occupied yawning as he is carefully tucked into the arms of the Brute and brought inside the bastion. He slowly deposited on the floor, in one of the bridges of the bastion where all of the other young piglins are. He tenses, and looks up in betrayal at the Brute, who snorts before leaving to grab something, leaving him to fend for himself in the middle of the now staring baby piglins.

He grimaces, scooting a little back, and staring back uncomfortable, not sure about what to do. He turns to look implorily at the Brute, but it has disappeared between the waves of piglins that are now milling around. Well… Shit.

He looks back at the kids, who are mostly talking among themselves, with the exception of the closest one, who is still staring curiously at him. The kid kind of oinks at him, scooting a little closer and sniffing him, completely ignoring how uncomfortable Techno is looking, his fur bristled and tail standing up straight.

“What do you want?” Techno doesn’t whine, because he is Technoblade and Technoblade never whines and is above everything, but asks somewhat pouting, unsure as to what the kid is asking of him.

The kid makes a weird sound, kind of like a quiet pant, and scoots closer. Surprisingly, the sound puts him more at ease, and he lets the kid get closer, letting the baby just look around him, seemingly in wonder of the strange clothes he has on compared to the plain brown leather it sports.

The kid shuffles around, standing up and circling around him, as if to see what else could be different, touching softly his burn scars and grunting softly, as if saying sorry, when he startles at the touch. Seemingly satisfied with its examination, the youngling plops down besides him, leaning into his arms and huffing, calm and satisfied, ignoring how he tenses at the touch.

Techno stares at the kid, once again unsure of what to do, watching the child just sprawl over him and affectionately nudging his arm. He slowly relaxes, as he sees the kid not move anymore, and lets it be. Sure, it is startling to be used as some kind of furniture, but the kid doesn’t do anything else and before baby piglins never did anything to him, preferring to tail him whenever he passed by, holding in wonder his cape and leaving him whenever he started straying too far from its territory.

This is somewhat familiar, so he closes his eyes and lets the kid sprawl over his lap, enjoying the peace as he hears the click of hooves approaching. A tufted tail flicks his snout, and he sneezes automatically, opening his eyes and watching the Brute who is looking at him softly, holding out a bowl filled with brown and red mushrooms, other hand holding out some nether warts.

He accepts it carefully, mindful of the kid practically unconscious on his lap, as he slowly sips the broth and grumbles happy at the flavour, not having noticed how hungry he was before. A hand tugs his torn up sleeve, and he looks down at the kid who makes a soft squeal, as if it were saying _meek meek meek_ , eyes fixated on the bowl on his hands. He grimaces but passes the kid the bowl with what's left of the soup, taking a nether wart and biting into it, enjoying the cold liquid seeping into his mouth as he sucks at the plant.

When the kid finishes he passes it one of the warts, the kid soon also sucking into it, as they stare out at the bridge, the Brute standing guard over them.

A feeling of belonging fills Techno on the inside, and if he were to look at himself in the mirror, he would notice the soft smile fixated on his face.

* * *

  
  


  
Weeks (or what he thinks is weeks) pass by like this, Techno settling into this new routine that is his new normal.

He slowly learns what some of the sounds the Brute makes mean, spending a lot of hours practising the sounds with the baby piglin who he met on the bridge. It is super tedious, the studying sessions always leaving him with a sore throat, unused to making piglins sounds. The piglin dialect is honestly fascinating, Techno thinks, the sounds have a vague meaning but most of the time the sounds convey emotions, the dialect is primarily focused on sharing the emotions of a piglin, what they feel like, and there is something holy in the fact that communication is for this purpose only.

The longer Techno stays here, the more he starts to notice small changes on him. He now doesn’t walk as straight as before, his posture now more relaxed and slightly curved, which helps immensely to not make him feel pain whenever he’s standing up. He had grown up learning to mimic the Players around him, and is only now that he can notice how much it harmed him. The way he used to hold items, his posture, how he didn’t use to let his tail relax, normally tying it to his chest so it wouldn't disturb him while he fought, how forcing his throat to talk English damaged it.

It is startling, to see how much it affected him, something he never thought about. It is easier now, for him, to remember when he was very little in that server (The name is beginning to escape him, and Techno does not know if that is a curse of a blessing) and he would squeal, babbling in piglin dialect only for nobody to understand, only for people to grimace and try to encourage him to talk English more, until it was all he knew.

He shakes his head, striving to not think too much about it, and tries to tune back in the conversation, watching amused how Shroom (the baby piglin he met, nicknamed affectionately from how much he loved mushrooms) squealed, opening his hands in animated big gestures.

“Happy, happy happy!” They squeal, giggling and pointing at the entrance of the bastion, where Brute is probably standing guard right now, barking (not too dissimilar to a wolf going woof) excitedly “Play? Outside Play?”

Techno rolls his eyes, and nods, standing up and letting Shroom guide him outside, where Brute nods at them, the sprawling crimson forest expanding as far as their eyes can see. The baby piglin tugs him excitedly towards the edge of the warped fungus barrier, where some baby hoglins are playing around in the nylium. 

The hogs stop when they see them, and run excitedly to meet them, Shroom squealing excitedly and running to meet up, instantly tackling a baby hoglin and starting to roll on the floor, in a mock-fight. The other baby hogs soon join into the fun, a few greeting him and nudging him in search of food or pets. Techno smiles and sits down, the hogs soon plopping around him in a very warm and weird cuddle pile. 

Techno is relaxed, since he cannot see any adults nearby and even if there were, he learned enough from his first mistake and wouldn’t dare to run away, not keen on repeating the experience of being chased by a massive 40+ kg hoglin which is surprisingly very fast.

They spend the day like this, Techno cuddling with the baby hogs while Shroom play-fights with them, squealing happily all the time, the young hogs also squeaking happily alongside them.

Soon, a distant chorus of squeals rises from where the bastion rests, an almost musical “week week week”, signaling the start of supper. Shroom soon leaves the hogs, nudging Techno excitedly so they can leave to go eat. It is very amusing to see them like this, one would think Shroom never eats. They leave the baby hogs behind and quickly jog to the bastion, just in time for a change of guards, Brute standing on the entrance waiting for them, grunting affectionately at Techno when he passes by.

The now trio enter the bustling structure, Techno and Shroom walking behind Brute to take advantage of the wide bert piglins make around the piglin Brutes. They reach the communal area, Shroom giving a quick goodbye to try and find his littermates and get food. This leaves Techno and the Brute alone, the older carefully nudging him towards the food to make him grab something, and then leaving towards “their” room, the Brute sitting down besides Techno and starting to eat.

They eat mostly in silence, leaving the bowls on the floor once they finish, the Brute carefully tugging Techno towards him and with gentle hooved hands, starting to brush the long fur on the back of his neck. The Player almost instantly relaxes at the touch, the Brute’s hands combing through the knots on his fur, the almost baby pink hair detangled and left ready for him to make a small braid.

The Brute nudges him on the back of the hair, an almost quiet and quick continuous groink as the huge mob rests carefully his head over Techno’s. He pauses for a second, hands stilling in the braiding of the long fur, and turns to look at the Brute, a question that has been burning on his mind for days very present.

Deciding to use the opportunity to also practice the dialect, Technoblade makes a questioning short and sharp bark, hoping the confusion will make this clear. It clearly doesn’t since the Brute looks at him almost bemused.

“Why shoat?” He questions, making a soft grunt and then a questioning bark, “Sound for shoats, I not. Why”

The Brute nods, and nudges him affectionately, grunting back softly “Shoat. Young, no piglet but young”

“No? Older” Techno looks strangely at the Brute, trying to understand why the other would think he is a kid “Young adult, no young young”

The Brute snorts, shaking his head firmly. “No. Young, shoat. Smell like youngling, very very small” then, very carefully, nudges him again, grunting softly “Child, act older but still child”

Seemingly thinking the conversation done, the Brute tugs Techno towards him, pushing him into the nest and then curling around him. 

“Sleep” He commands, grunting “Safe Shoat, now sleep”

Techno doesn’t even try to fight it, knowing he would probably end up losing as always, and lets himself curl around the Brute, mind filled with confusing questions and remarks.

He stays there, held protectively, as he tries to think why the Brute would think he is a kid. It doesn’t make any sense, at least for him, especially when knowing how old he is. He has lived around twenty-something years, the fact clear on his mind, and yeah, he is very little compared to the other piglins but… That doesn’t mean anything, right?

Oh Aether’s what if he’s actually a child?!

No, no, no. That can’t be right. He remembers he is clearly older than… than… He cannot remember the name, but he knows he’s older than that child. He can’t be a kid, it is simply not possible.

_It not possible in human standard,_ whispers a small part of him that is bitter about how much he had to change to adapt to the Player world now that he realizes how much easier it is to act like a piglin _Who says you aren’t a kid in piglin terms and you simply were forced to grow up to fit the mold everyone wanted you in?_

He whines quietly, tugging anxiously at his own tusk, distraught over this possibility.

Surely that can’t be right, right? Surely that’s false, just crazy musings of someone bitter?

The Brute just holds him, and Techno tries to fall asleep and stop thinking about it.

_It fails, miserably so._

It soon becomes one of the only things on his mind, the idea always present on his brain whenever he was awake, that stupid bitter inner voice pointing the similarities he had with all the piglin kids whenever he interacted with Shroom. It drives him up the wall, the endless possibilities, the constant _what if, what if, what if._

It soon reaches an end, when he is distractedly brushing the long fur on the back of his head, and a blurry memory comes out of nowhere at him.

It is someone blonde, with great scaly black wings and deep purple eyes, humming something that sounds familiar, doing something on a… st-stove he thinks? He stops and tries to concentrate on the memory, despite how it escapes from him. The… human, he thinks, is doing something, cooking?, and then turns to talk to him. 

_“Time in the Nether is different” H_ e hums, pouring.. Soup? Into a bowl and passing it to him _“A second here can go from an hour to years, or it can mean even less. It is difficult to tell, honestly. Time practically doesn’t exist on the Nether, and if it doesn, is on a completely different scale to ours. There’s a reason why something in the Nether takes so long to grow if not encouraged”_

_“Don’t grow up?”_ He remembers asking, draped in soft… in soft blues, the place totally different from the Nether 

_“Yeah. Things don’t grow quickly there, as if frozen in time”_ The blonde laughs, a sound that brings too much heartbreak and warmth to his chest _“A good thing that dimension is not abilitated on this server, eh?”_

Techno whimpers, shaking his head to try and forget that blonde figure, his voice filling him with so much hurt it almost hurts to breathe. He tries to concentrate on what he said, more than in how he looked, and frowns, not sure how to take the information.

Things don’t grow quickly…

Well, that explains the height.

* * *

  
  
  


Techno wakes up slowly, whining at the rough shove and trying to burrow more into the cuddle pile he’s currently in.

“Play, play, play!” Shroom barks excitedly, practically shoving him out of the pile, causing more than one piglin to grumble.

“No, sleep” he groinks, eyes closed and sighing softly as he starts to fall asleep once again, growling when Shroom yanks at his tail. “No! Sleep!”

“Plaaayyy!!!!!”

“No”

“Play!”

“No!”

They continue like this for a good while, until one of the piglin kicks Techno out of the pile, grumbling at him to go outside and let them sleep.

Grumpy, Techno goes with Shroom out of the main bridge, where everyone is mostly sleeping right now. The hyper kid guides him towards the lower levels, and soon Techno wakes up, the two starting to chase each other around the huge room, weaving between the piglins and magma cubes that cover the room, uncaring of the offended squeaks of the adults when they get shoved out of the way by the kids.

Techno squeals happily, chasing after Shroom, hooves clicking loudly against the blackstone floor. He stretches and managed to push Shroom, the kid squeaking and turning around to try and catch him, Techno quickly ducking to the side and jumping towards the blackstone pillars in the middle of the lava, barking good naturally at Shroom, who whines from the edge of the lava pool.

“Play!”

“No, danger”

“Safe, safe!” Techno calls, but pouts when he sees the other not budge, quickly jumping towards the other end and calling back “Okay, outside!”

Grinning at the excited squeal, he runs off, searching for a good place to hide to catch Shroom out of guard, when he sees one of the Brutes and he gets a brilliant idea. Running quickly, he gets to the entrance and calls to the Brute, who barely manages to call back a greeting before he has his hands full of Techno, who leaped into the arms and tries to scramble up. 

The Brute just picks him and stares at him, confused as to why he decided to jump into his arms, when he catches Techno pointing and looks up, oinking in understanding when he sees the ledge over his head. Carefully, he helps Techno up, just in time for Shroom to barrel into the entrance, looking excitedly around for the other.

The Brute just stays silent, watching Shroom pace around in search of their playmate, when Techno jumps from above. The kids land in a pile of gangly limbs, Shroom squeaking offended while Techno laughs, the two soon starting to roll around the floor in a mock-fight, growling in between happy squeals while the Brute watches fondly.

Soon they end up sprawled on the floor, both panting tiredly from running around, when a sharp whistle is heard and they sit up, alarmed, staring at the path that leads to the Crimson Forest. A sounder of piglins emerge from the path, carrying two carcasses from hoglins, and Shroom leaps to their feet, running to the group and squealing happily at their caretaker, who grunts softly at them and nudges them inside, nodding at Brute as they pass by with the dead hoglins.

Techno grins, and waves Shroom goodbye, knowing the piglet would prefer to spend time with their caretaker now that they are back from a hunt. The Brute calls him, and he runs to them, plopping against his side and closing his eyes, enjoying the soft pets on his head. They stay like this for a very good while, the Brute standing guard at the entrance yet still holding Techno against his side, the hooves hands carefully petting and taking care to not touch too roughly the old burn scars that cover his whole back.

Techno is content to wait like this, and lets the Brute guide him away when a change of guard finally happens, the mob carefully holding him close, listening to him attentive chatter about his day.

Soon they reach their nest and the Brute lets Techno lay down, the Player still chattering away excitedly, as the older passes him a new change of clothes, the plain brown leather he is currently wearing covered in netherrack and dust. Techno changes almost absently, only taking a small second to look at the clothes confused, as if expecting something else, before shrugging and putting it on, laying on top of the Brute and gigglin when the older just snorts at the weight now on him.

The Brute lets him talk for a while more, before snorting and telling him sternly to stay, getting up, grabbing the dirty clothes and leaving the room. He soon returns, a shiny golden sword held carefully on his hands, his own familiar gold axe clipped to his belt.

Techno stares confused, as the Brute kneels in front of him and offers him the weapon. He brushes a hand against the blade, watching in wonder the shimmering tell of an enchantment woven into the sword, and looks up to the Brute, question clear in his eyes.

The Brute nods and Techno slowly takes the sword, holding it on one hand. There’s a satisfied hum at the back of his mind, something telling him how if he accepts he would already know how to use it. And there is, this tickle of a memory just out of reach, of reds and adrenaline, of the high of battle he does not know how he knows and the brush of power. 

He knows about this, about fighting, about being powerful.

He stares at the sword, for a long long while, before shaking his head and giving it back to the Brute, ignoring how the golden blade seems to beckon him closer. He doesn’t need it, he thinks to himself, he is safe here and he doesn’t really want to fight, not really.

_(There’s a small split of a second where he wonders if in those distant memories he wanted to fight or did it because it seemed to be all that he knew)_

The Brute seems to understand him, grunting softly and putting the weapon away, letting Techno crawl into his lap. The mob holds him gently, and Techno closes his eyes and enjoys the warmth of the hug, head resting against the other’s shoulder and curled into his chest, a familiar feeling of safety washing over him.

Technoblade thinks he is finally happy.

**Author's Note:**

> YES Techno ended up forgetting everyone (including Phil)  
> YES everyone thinks Techno's dead  
> YES techno still is in the dreamSMP  
> and YES, Techno ends up living as a piglin and thats it. Thats the whole one-shot
> 
> Maybe someday ill make a oneshot that deals with the aftermath of techno disappearing but im also honestly done with this oneshot so yeah.... 
> 
> As always my tumblr is @villruu and my twt @vrillru, i sometimes talk about my fics lol
> 
> Also, AO3 statistics show that only a small percentage of you leave kudos, comments and bookmarks, so if you could do them, i would appreciate it a lot. It really helps the story out, and you can always eliminate them later. And if you like my stuff, i have written some more fics (mostly techno-centric/sbi-centric lol)


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